


Not Anymore Lonesome

by colonel_bastard



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Flirting, M/M, Pre-Slash, Vodka
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-10 00:29:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonel_bastard/pseuds/colonel_bastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Vodka,”  says Chekov.  “That truly is a drink for all occasions.” </p><p>“Oh, really?”  Sulu raises his eyebrows. </p><p>“Really.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Anymore Lonesome

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a challenge with [raja815](http://archiveofourown.org/users/raja815): the prompt was "cocktail recipes," with a 1000-word limit. Her fic is called [It Doesn't Help.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1153559)
> 
> Title is taken from [this ridiculously awesome song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qcNtKpnBNUw) that I stumbled across while doing research for this fic.

“Vodka,” says Chekov. “That truly is a drink for all occasions.” 

“Oh, really?” Sulu raises his eyebrows. 

“Really.”

It’s been over a month since Chekov became the navigator, and they’re finally starting to find a rhythm together. The first few weeks were fraught with tension, Sulu resenting being partnered with such a junior officer and Chekov desperate not to make anything remotely resembling a mistake. Now they’re starting to relax, to get to know each other, to tease. Sulu is surprised by Chekov’s playfulness. It’s been a while since he was seated alongside such a spirited crew member— not since Riley requested a transfer, too rattled by the Kodos incident to stay aboard. His energy has been sorely missed. When the shifts get long and the stars never seem to change, a playful partner can be like a breath of fresh air. 

“Come on, now,” Sulu says, baiting him. “It’s not really _that_ versatile. In fact, I’d say it’s one of the plainest drinks there is.”

“That is where the beauty is, my friend,” Chekov grins. “Vodka goes with everything.”

“Maybe so. But I can think of plenty of occasions that it wouldn’t be suited for.”

“Name one.”

“Oh, I don’t know, plenty.”

“Name one!”

“All right, uh...” Sulu grasps for the first _occasion_ he can think of. “A wedding.”

“That’s easy,” Chekov snorts. “Shake vodka and mint leaves in ice, strain into chilled glass, float champagne over top.” 

Sulu actually does a double-take. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t an actual cocktail recipe, let _alone_ one that was so absolutely perfect. Vodka and champagne with a touch of mint; that’s one classy drink right there. It has to be a fluke— that’s probably Chekov’s go-to answer for anyone who says that vodka has no place in high society. There’s no way he has a cocktail for _every_ occasion. 

Only one way to find out.

“Not bad,” Sulu concedes. He’s just getting warmed up. “How about... a Christmas party?”

“Of course.” Chekov isn’t fazed in the slightest. “All you have to do is take some candy canes and get them all ground down to dust. You put the dust in the bottle of vodka, you shake it till it turns red, and there you have it. Serve on the rocks.” 

That one sounds even better than the last. Sulu wonders how long he can keep this up. 

“What about... a formal brunch?”

“One part vodka to one part cranberry juice. Stir. Top off with two parts orange juice.”

“A black tie dinner.”

“Classic martini. Vodka and dry vermouth, finish with a twist of lemon.” 

“A beach vacation.”

“Equal parts vodka and peach schnapps, then cranberry, orange, and pineapple juice. Garnish with orange slice.”

“A birthday party.”

“Whose birthday party?” 

“Erm... Lieutenant Uhura’s.” 

“Hmm.”

Chekov looks up while he thinks, his eyes flicking back and forth as though he’s reviewing a drink catalogue printed on the ceiling of the bridge. Sulu starts to think he might have actually stumped him, but then Chekov snaps his fingers triumphantly. 

“Two parts vodka to one part each of pomegranate juice and pink grapefruit juice. Roll rim of the glass in coarse sugar. Garnish with wedge of lemon.” 

It suits her perfectly. Sulu wracks his brain for something really tricky— then gets a wicked grin. 

“And what about...” he says. “Mr. Scott’s birthday?” 

It’s not just a trick question, it’s an outright trap. Chekov knows it, too— but instead of the anticipated expression of defeat, Sulu sees only smug victory.

“Scotch martini,” Chekov says proudly. “Four parts vodka to one part single malt scotch, finish with a dash of Pernod.”

Sulu throws his hands up in the air, vanquished. 

“All right, all right! You win!” He shakes his head. “It really is a drink for every occasion.” 

Satisfied, he turns his attention back to his instruments and is delighted by how much time they managed to kill with that little game. He’s double-checking their course heading when he realizes that Chekov is staring at him.

“Well?” Chekov prompts.

“Well, what?”

“Aren’t you going to ask what kind of drink I would make for you?” 

Sulu turns to look at the man sitting beside him. Chekov has that smug grin on his face again, the one that’s making Sulu suspect that the Russian is far more clever than they all give him credit for. Trying to hide his own smile, Sulu gives an offhanded shrug. 

“Sure, I suppose.”

Chekov leans towards him as though he’s about to tell a secret, and without really thinking Sulu mirrors the gesture, the distance between them now cut in half. Still smiling, Chekov unveils his masterpiece.

“You start with pickled ginger and half a barspoon of green wasabi. These you muddle in a mixing glass. Then you add two parts vodka to one part fresh lime juice. Finish with a splash of rose syrup. Add ice and shake well, then strain into chilled glass. Garnish with a twist of lime.” 

Sulu takes a deep breath and realizes that his mouth is watering. He licks his lips and looks away, feeling, frankly, amazed.

“That sounds... incredible.” 

“Well, when we are done here,” Chekov raps his knuckles against the navigation console. “I will mix one for you.” 

Sulu laughs. “Oh, you will, will you?”

“Yes.” 

“And where are you going to get pickled ginger and wasabi?”

“I already did, at the space station, two days ago.”

There’s that smug, sneaky grin. It hits Sulu like a red alert right in the chest. He’s going to have to be very, very careful with this one. If he doesn’t watch himself, he might end up falling in love with the kid.

 

 

________end.


End file.
